There are harps that complain to the presence of night,
  To the presence of night alone—
  In a near and unchangeable tone—
Like winds, full of sound, that go whispering by,
As if some immortal had stooped from the sky,
  And breathed out a blessing—and flown!

Yes! harps that complain to the breezes of night,
  To the breezes of night...